Life was simple during my childhood. We learned from our parents, teachers, and the School of Hard Knocks. We learned to either fight or to take it! We either walked or bicycled to school and spent our time playing outdoors.

Saturdays were reserved for going to the movies, which featured double features along with animated cartoons and News Reels, allowing us to see the news we heard on the radio or read in the newspapers. Sundays were dedicated to dressing smartly and attending church.

I was born in Mt. Adams, Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1940. The streets were made of cobblestones, and the milk delivery was done by horse and wagon. The Mount Adams Incline linked downtown Cincinnati to this hilltop community of working-class blue-collar people.

By the time I turned 3, I had a baby sister named Donna Sue and a baby brother named Jimmy. We resided on Winneste Avenue in Winton Terrace, a public housing project that opened in 1940. At 6 years old, I began first grade at St. Bernard Catholic school in the nearby Winton Place community.

According to current Google Maps, it takes 25 minutes to walk to school or 7 minutes by bicycle, but I recall the walk from Winneste Ave. to St. Bernard feeling longer, so we frequently took a shortcut across a field and along the "cinder path" through the woods known as Winton Commons.

Each morning, my mother prepared our breakfast and packed our school lunches. These usually consisted of a bologna or peanut butter and jelly sandwich, always accompanied by a piece of fruit and a thermos of milk. After my First Communion and Confirmation, I became an altar boy at St. Bernard church.

On Sundays after church, my dad would often prepare breakfast, including toast, bacon, oatmeal, and eggs, to give my mom a break. Another one of my cherished memories of Winton Terrace is waking up on a summer morning to the sound of lawnmowers in the Winneste Avenue courtyard and the fragrance of freshly cut grass.

Although it was against the rules of the Catholic Church, my parents signed my brother and me up for the YMCA. It was an educational experience, and best of all, we learned to swim and play chess. By the time I was 13, we moved to an apartment on Hamilton Avenue, situated between Northside and College Hill. I began seventh grade at St. Boniface school in Northside and became an altar boy at St. Boniface Church.

The church and the rectory were stunning stone structures. I was awed by the beauty of the church, with its magnificent vaulted ceiling and mosaic pillars. The sanctuary was beneath a golden dome, surrounded by grand mosaic images, and the altar was placed under a marble shrine. A grand organ dominated the choir loft, and I will never forget its resonating sound when the organist, Mr. Dagger, added the remote organ pipes located in the church's vestibules.

Even now, St. Boniface is renowned for its beautiful stained glass windows, exquisite mosaic Stations of the Cross, and marble statues. I have traveled through Europe, the Baltic countries, and Oceania, yet St. Boniface remains one of the most unforgettable churches I have ever visited.

  By the time I turned 14, my parents operated a grocery store located at the intersection of Chase and Chambers Streets in Northside. J&R Foods offered fresh produce and meats, with my dad serving as the butcher.

Although I was young, I enjoyed assisting customers and keeping the shelves neatly stocked. When I delivered someone's groceries I sometimes got a cookie or a piece of fruit for a tip.

The less pleasant tasks, such as mopping floors, cleaning the meat display, vegetable bins, and occasionally defrosting the ice cream freezer, were mostly completed on Sundays when the store was closed.

A real challenge arose when my father was diagnosed with throat cancer. He endured significant suffering due to surgery and radiation treatments, which left his face and neck severely disfigured, leading to deep depression. By the time I was 16, my parents had separated.

Our store operated from 8 AM to 8 PM, Monday through Saturday, and without my dad cutting meat, it became quite difficult on my mother. I left school after my sophomore year to assist in the store. The first time the meat delivery person hung a side of beef in our cooler, he showed me how to "break it down" into quarters right on the hook.

With each delivery, he taught me more about the various cuts of meat. With his guidance and the images of meat cuts in my mother's Betty Crocker Cookbook, I learned to slice round steak, cut pork chops, and tie a rump roast as skillfully as any local butcher.

My mother was a strong woman and a savvy business person. Even though I was not attending school, I was gaining knowledge about cash flow, markup, profit and loss, and customer relations. I managed inventories and monitored deliveries to ensure we weren't shortchanged. My mother and I would often play Scrabble® and compete to see who could take the largest grocery order over the phone and fulfill it from memory.

My brother and sister worked at the store after school, but serving customers was typically my responsibility. My brother and I both delivered groceries using a wagon attached to our bicycles. My mother prepared dinner in an electric skillet we kept in a space behind the meat cooler at the back of the store. Some meals and desserts were made from produce that might otherwise spoil, and we ate our meals between customers.

There was a "corner grocery store" on every corner for two blocks surrounding our store, but we were the only shop that sold fresh meats and vegetables. Soon, however, a new trend emerged in grocery shopping known as a Supermarket. This large store ran advertisements that misled our customers into thinking their pre-packaged goods and self-service options were a better deal than our fresh products and personal service.

One incident I will always remember involved the price of bologna. A regular customer complained about our price of 69¢ a pound, believing the supermarket's bologna was 59¢ a pound. However, the supermarket was selling an "11 oz pkg." Thus, shoppers who purchased one of those supermarket packages were actually paying 86¢ a pound for their bologna.

I was just 17 but I learned from the supermarkets. We had a case of cherry pie filling that wasn't selling well. Since it was February, I created a display that read "Bake a Cherry Pie for Washington's Birthday". I changed the price of the cans from 29¢ to three-for-a-dollar, and we sold every can, making $8.00 instead of $6.96. The extra $1 we earned is equivalent to $11 today.

Although the store was a full-time commitment, I was determined to complete high school and even aspired to attend college. I resumed my Junior year at West Night High School. At night school there were no breaks, lunch periods, or study halls. There were no Friday night ball games or proms. I took a city bus to and from school Monday through Friday and completed my homework each night while watching Jack Parr on television.

Nonetheless, West Night High School provided an excellent education. My physics teacher was an MIT graduate who taught high school at night to help pay for his tuition. Occasionally, for those who wanted to stay after class, which I always did, he taught physics beyond the high school level. One night, he discussed the physics of the Big Bang Theory, a concept that wouldn't gain general acceptance for another 30 years.

My chemistry teacher was an organic chemist at Proctor & Gamble. One evening, instead of our usual tedious experiments, he demonstrated how organic chemistry could transform orange juice into gasoline. He believed the process was too costly to ever be practical, but today we have ethanol, which converts corn into alcohol and then adds it to gasoline.

Since there was no salary at the store, I took on odd jobs for neighbors to earn money. I frequently worked for two elderly sisters living nearby. I mowed their lawn, washed their car, and shoveled coal when it was delivered. Every winter night, I would "bank the fire" in their furnace to ensure they had heat in the morning. Peg Walker taught me how to clean and hang wallpaper, a skill I became quite proficient at.

However, odd jobs didn't pay much, and I wanted radio equipment, to go on dates, and to have a car. My desire to get paid led to significant arguments with my mother. Determined, I set out to find a "paying job." In August 1958, I was hired as a "Page" in the Shelving Department at the downtown branch of the Cincinnati Public Library.

The store continued to demand more of my time, and profits were limited. My grandfather Brown, who apparently had invested some money in the store, persuaded my mother that we should "remodel" the store to resemble a supermarket. This decision disrupted our business and did not yield the intended supermarket-like results. We lost customers and revenue. My mother was working excessively hard to keep the store profitable, so we decided it was time to sell the business and move forward.

My mother took a position in the Catalog Department at the Cincinnati library where I was employed. However, selling the store meant we had to leave our apartment above it. We relocated to a lovely two-floor apartment in the same neighbourhood, but sadly, we had to give up our dog, Teddy. I cried for weeks when my mother informed us that she had put him down. He was only about eight years old, and I truly hope there is a Rainbow Bridge so I can tell our beloved dog Teddy how sorry I am for his brief life.

I was the oldest, but my sister, brother, and I were all just one year apart. When they graduated from high school, my sister secured a job as a secretary, and my brother began working as a meat cutter in a supermarket. With everyone in the family employed, all of our earnings went into a family fund, and we rented a small house on Chambers Street. The train tracks are gone now, but the train used to run right next to our house.

I was firm in my decision not to attend my 1960 high school graduation by bus, so I visited an auto dealership, purchased a used 1957 Chevrolet, and drove it home. That weekend, I practiced parallel parking with a friend in a nearby cul-de-sac.

When it came time for me to obtain my driver's license, the ranger had me drive around the block and stop in front of an ice cream truck surrounded by children. He bought two ice cream cones, and we returned to the station. That day, I received my driver's license with no further testing or parallel parking.

My mother hadn't driven since before World War II, but since I needed to drive her to work, she bought a black and white, stick-shift Nash Metropolitan convertible. I learned to drive a stick shift in that car, but she wasn't pleased with shifting gears and traded it in for a new Chevy Two.

Meanwhile, my brother purchased a 1950s Ford, and my sister started dating. I enrolled in Engineering at the University of Cincinnati, and for a time, life felt normal. My brother and I often double-dated, usually taking both cars. Those were the days of drive-in movies, miniature golf, Rock & Roll, and car hops on roller skates.

My pay at the library was low compared to the Union wages my brother earned at the supermarket, so when a position opened in the library's printing department, I applied. However, since I had not yet completed high school, the library rejected my application. My mother persuaded me that the library was not a suitable place for a career, so I left the library and took a job at the supermarket.

I felt uneasy cutting meat inside a cooler, so they assigned me to manage their "Deli." I worked 40 hours from Thursday to Sunday, but the Deli felt like having our store back again. I maintained a fresh and appealing meat case and always showcased a tempting display of "home baked" pies. During my first 4th of July weekend, my boss believed I had ordered too much potato salad. After selling all but a fresh batch left for the meat case the next morning, he fired me! My brother mentioned they hired two people to take my place in the deli.

With no job and the looming threat of the Army draft, I enlisted in the Air Force. I thought it would be an excellent chance to receive the electronics training I desired, and the G.I. Bill would assist with my college education. However, during my first leave home after my Air Force training in Biloxi, Mississippi, everything I owned was gone.

I had lost my car, ham radio equipment, Hi-Fi, 45 rpm records, girlfriends, and friends. My mother was dating, my sister was engaged, and my brother was married. When I departed Cincinnati for my assignment in Plattsburgh, NY, I was so furious that it took many years before I returned to Cincinnati.

  I was a sophomore at Sacred Heart Seminary when I became a member of the school's amateur radio club. To join, I needed an "A" in mathematics. I had struggled with algebra in my freshman year, but this year I achieved an "A" in geometry class.

I caught on quickly to the fundamentals of electronics, such as capacity, resistance, voltage, and current and I actually began to understand algebra by manipulating Ohm's Law (I=E/R).

At 15, I successfully passed the FCC Amateur Radio exam to earn my Novice class license KN8ARV. Thanks to the radio club, I had learned basic electronics, FCC rules and regulations, and I could send and receive Morse Code at 5 wpm.

As novices, we were limited to operating in Morse Code, so we communicated using "Q" signals and abbreviations. During our QSOs (contacts), we exchanged QSL cards (postcards) to verify the contact, express TNX (thanks), and extend 73s (best wishes).

I became quite active as a "ham" at school, seizing every opportunity to use their "ham shack." I enjoyed connecting with people in distant states like California and Florida. I still possess 45 QSL cards from contacts I made between 1956 and 1958.

After leaving school to work in our family store, I wanted my own radio equipment, so I took on odd jobs for neighbors—washing cars, mowing lawns, and even shoveling coal. My budget was limited, so I purchased a used Hallicrafters SX-99 receiver, built a Heathkit 35-watt CW (continuous wave) transmitter, and installed a long-wire antenna on the store's roof.

I also acquired a semi-automatic Vibroplex key, commonly known as a "bug." This device allowed me to send Morse Code quickly by automatically generating the "dots." Once I could send and copy code at 15 wpm, I obtained my General Class license, K8ARV. This license permitted me to operate in AM (voice communication), but I would need a new transmitter for that.

I was 18 and working at the library when we relocated to Dane Avenue, where I established a fully equipped "ham shack." I upgraded my Heathkit CW transmitter to a 200-watt CW/AM/SSB Viking Valiant. Peg Walker generously paid me for various tasks, which allowed me to purchase the pre-assembled transmitter rather than the kit version. I purchased a microphone for AM transmissions and built a Heathkit Q-Multiplier to improve the reception of my receiver.

For an antenna, I needed something discreet to avoid upsetting the neighbors. Fortunately, I discovered an old UHF bow-tie TV antenna in the rafters of an electronics salvage store and modified it into a 10-meter "ham band" antenna by wrapping a coil around an old fishing float. I mounted the antenna on a pole outside my attic bedroom window.

The antenna was bidirectional, so I secured the pole in a flange using a large Allen wrench, allowing me to manually rotate the antenna in any direction. With that transmitter and antenna, I made numerous new contacts in CW and AM. One of my DX (long-distance) contacts was a person in France who was transmitting from his car, a Renault.

I remained somewhat active in ham radio during my years in the Air Force by building a 110-volt power supply for the G76 transceiver I had installed in my car. The transceiver was the only piece of radio equipment left after my mother sold everything else.

Like my mother, my wife was strongly against having an antenna, so I erected a vertical ground plane antenna atop a clothes pole in our yard in Peru, NY. One day, lightning struck the antenna. Fortunately, it was properly protected, so there was no damage, but my wife insisted I take it down. The following day, I dismantled the antenna and stopped operating K8ARV.

During my time in the Air Force, I was able to operate anywhere with my K8 call sign. However, once my enlistment concluded and I relocated to Pennsylvania, I needed to acquire a new call sign, which became W2FDS. I was thrilled to have a "W" call sign, but after using American Radio Voice for ARV I found it challenging to come up with phonetics for FDS. My friend, Charlie Holbrick, humorously suggested "Feminine Deodorant Spray," which made chosing phonetics even more challenging!

I don't even remeber operating as W2FDS. I only had the G76 and with my wife strongly opposed to an antenna, I probably just became inactive. When it was time to renew my W2FDS license, I chose not to do so. I kept the Gonset G76 until I sold my property in Philadelphia in August 2015, but sadly, it ended up being discarded.

  In August 1958, just a month shy of my 18th birthday, I began working as a "Page" at the main branch of the Cincinnati Public Library. Although the pay was only 90 cents an hour, the library was a treasure trove of knowledge and artifacts, perfect for a curious young mind like mine.

Each item in a library is assigned a label that specifies its location by subject. This is known as the Dewey Decimal System, which organizes books according to their subject matter. Shakespeare is so significant that he has his own Dewey Decimal Number, with his works and their critiques categorized under 822.33.

In the Dewey Decimal System, books are additionally sorted by the last name of the author. However, the Cincinnati library utilized the Cutter Classification, allowing books to be additionally sorted in alphanumeric order even when the author or title lacks a pertinent word.

What further set the Cincinnati library apart from other libraries was its division of the ten Dewey Decimal Classifications, ranging from 000 to 900, into distinct "Departments" within the library. This made browsing easy. A patron could visit a department and explore all the books on a topic without needing to check the library's massive catalog files.

On the first floor of the library, there was the Philosophy & Religion department, the History & Literature department, and a "Browsing Room," which functioned like a library within a library, featuring the most popular books across all subjects.

The second floor housed the Business & Industry department, the Language & Science department, and Reference Books on every topic. The third floor included the Art & Music department, an elegant Rare Books Room, a large movie theater, and the catalog department responsible for maintaining the extensive catalog cards in the library's vast catalog files.
In addition to the three public floors, there were four "stack levels" that were not accessible to the public. These levels contained millions of overflow books, as well as oversized volumes, quarto, folio, and elephant folio books.

The two stack levels beneath the first floor supplied the first-floor departments with books, magazines, periodicals, newspapers, and maps. The two stack levels between the second and third floors served those departments with books, magazines, periodicals, films, and records.

"Pages" worked from the stack levels. When a patron requested an item from a stack level, the Page would retrieve it and send it via dumbwaiter to the main floor. When books were returned, Pages were tasked with sorting and reshelving them in their original locations on the main floors or in the stack levels.

During lunch hours, Pinochle was a popular game in the boiler room. I learned to play and became one of the top players. We played "a penny a point and a nickel a set," except on paydays, when the stakes were a nickel a point and a dime a set, and I often came out on top.

On paydays, I would always spend a dollar on a new 45 RPM record. I also enjoyed purchasing clothes and getting my white shirts cleaned at Sam Yee's Laundry in Northside, where the cost was 10¢ a shirt, and Sam would give me a box of Chinese tea every Christmas.

I cherished my time at the library, and it wasn't long before I was promoted to Shelving Department Supervisor. There were many intriguing stories about the people I hired and worked with during those years at the library, and a few are worth sharing.

One memorable tale was from a gentleman who worked as a tax collector in Burma (now Myanmar). He traveled from village to village by canoe to collect taxes, living in a tent and hunting and fishing for his food since he was not well-liked by the villagers. As a government worker, he had to flee Burma when the Japanese invaded during WWII.

Most unforgettable, however, was Fredrich Kotva. Fred had been a fighter pilot in the Luftwaffe during WWII. After the war, he defected to Hungary, but during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, he fled the country and immigrated to the U.S.A.

When Fred was hired at the library, he resided at the Friars Club, a Catholic refuge for immigrants. During his time at the library, Fred became a "millionaire." His success story is so compelling and inspiring that it deserves to be told in detail.

As we got to know Fred, he shared that he spoke seven languages fluently and bought a new reel-to-reel tape recorder. What was interesting was that he used the recorder to improve his accents by listening to himself, which certainly had helped his spoken English.

Fred also purchased a movie projector—not an 8mm home movie projector, but a 35mm movie theater projector. He explained that before the war, he had been a movie producer and director in Germany. But what could he possibly need such a projector for?

Fred was exceptionally talented. With an electronic engineering degree from Germany, he was hired by WLW, a clear-channel radio station in Cincinnati, to launch their latest state-of-the-art broadcast equipment. He earned enough to open a small machine shop where he invented and manufactured a unique film splicing device, for which he applied for and received a U.S. patent.

Given his background in the film industry, it wasn't long before Fred was assigned to the Films & Recording Department at the library. Films were often returned damaged and required repairs before being rented again.

The library had a machine for reviewing, splicing, and fixing returned films. One day, I noticed that the "F&R machine" was operating on its own. I had no idea how it was functioning, but it was rewinding, splicing, and reeling the films autonomously. Fred was responsible for that.

When it was announced that Fred was leaving the library, a grand send-off celebration was held for him. I had never witnessed such an event for any other employee, but soon understood why. Fred held four (4) U.S. patents and was donating two of them to the library.

Fred held a patent for the Films & Recordings Department's machine and another patent for a device that would automatically switch from one 35mm projector to another at the end of a reel without needing a projectionist on duty. Fred gifted these two patents to the Cincinnati library.

Fred's fourth patent was acquired by Bell & Howell. He had become a millionaire and was living in the penthouse of one of Cincinnati's most prestigious buildings. I never discovered the details of that patent, but years later, I speculated it might have been connected to "Super 8 Movie Film."

Even though Super 8 was not launched until 1965 by Eastman Kodak, I remembered Fred talking about film formats and highlighting the benefits of the larger 35mm film compared to the 8mm used in home movie cameras. It’s possible he was a trailblazer in that area.

I never learned what became of Fred, but during the time I spent with him, I recall him frequently blowing a kiss and saying, "I love America. Truly the land of opportunity."